War to the Knife 43

War to the Knife 43

"Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash,

As many a broken band,

Disordered through her currents dash,

To gain the Scottish land."

 

"This Orakau business should finish up the infernal war, any one

would think," said Mr. Slyde on the following morning, when, after a

decent night's rest, a complete personal renovation, and a breakfast,

much assisted by the arrival of fresh supplies, he and Massinger were

cleaning their accoutrements.

 

"But surely it _will_ end it," replied Massinger, with an air of

conviction. "More than a hundred natives were found dead. It is almost

certain that fifty more were either killed or mortally wounded. The

rest are scattered. They will never be so mad as to tackle the troops

we can bring against them now, engineers and artillery too, besides the

volunteers and friendlies."

 

"Any other country, any other people, quite so," assented Mr. Slyde,

in a tone of philosophical argument; "but Maoris devils incarnate when

their blood is up. Remember what Tutakaro said, chaffed with fighting

against us once and for us afterwards?"

 

"No. I saw the man, though--fine, powerful youngster."

 

"Beggar coolly replied, 'What matter? Fighting is fighting: if we young

fellows can get a share of it, don't much care which side we go for.'"

 

"And did he go well for us?"

 

"Of course he did. Killed a chief. Shot through the arm, too. Tied it

up and blazed away till the affair was over."

 

"What a splendid mercenary soldier he would have made in the Middle

Ages! Is he with us now?"

 

"Yes. Very nearly got Rewi, as he was crossing the mound. Strictly

impartial."

 

"And a most pathetic sight it was" said Massinger, "when they were

crossing the mound at the other side of the swamp. I saw the column

file by--men, women, and children, all as serious as a funeral, and

as cool as if they were going to market. I hadn't the heart to fire

another shot. Every now and then I could hear a woman's voice--not

complaining, far from it--urging on the men to keep going and to shoot

when they saw a chance."

 

"Warwick says _you_ had a close shave. So much for not minding your

business. Thinking about Erena Mannering. Soldiers no right to

have feelings. Harass the enemy, sink, burn, kill, destroy. Navy

regulations; army too."

 

"Certainly a bullet _did_ hit the tree I was leaning against, close

to my head. Queer thing, too; it came from the _friendly_ side. I

distinctly saw the smoke from the bush, where our natives were."

 

"You must have been in the line of fire."

 

"Nothing of the sort. It was a side shot."

 

"Any one cherishing ill feeling that you know of?"

 

"Well--no. Now I come to think, there was an ill-looking dog of a

Ngapuhi with us at Rotorua, that was turned out of the party by me and

bullied by the chief. His name was Ngarara."

 

"Wh--ew! I've heard the reptile's name before. Cousin or something of

your Zenobia--admirer probably. Acute attack jealousy."

 

"Might have been. After he went I didn't trouble my head about him. I

had a great mind to give him a thrashing, but Warwick said it might

cause trouble."

 

"And so at any time he may take a steady pot-shot at you; probably did.

'Keep your eye skinned,' as that Yankee said. Set Warwick at him. By

the way, wonder how he is? Shot through the shoulder yesterday. No bone

hit. Doctor says all right directly. Lay up for a week. Painful all

the same. Suppose we look him up?"

 

When our friends were comforting themselves with the belief that

perhaps the dragging and unsatisfactory war was near its termination,

how little they were aware of the decisive engagement ahead of

them--the very next in succession, as it turned out, when the 43rd

was fated to lose more officers than any of the regiments engaged

at Waterloo! A crushing repulse, followed by a disastrous rout and

the death of their gallant colonel! With what indignation would they

have repelled such a suggestion! It was destined to come to pass,

nevertheless. That two of the speakers would be dangerously wounded,

and the other at death's door--"reported missing," besides? Long was

it before the soldiers of the gallant regiment, which had won glory on

many a bloody field, could endure an allusion to the Gate Pah, a name

which always brought up memories of bitter grief and shame intolerable.

It was a case of "threes about"--those simple, apparently meaningless

words, spoken by chance or otherwise--which clouded the well-earned

fame of a gallant cavalry regiment in India, and caused the death of

their colonel by his own hand. And in the memorable disaster at the

Gate Pah, in the moment of victory, it is alleged that the ominous

word, to a British ear, of "Retreat!" was distinctly heard.

 

Orakau fight was over. The dead were buried. The women were still

mingling blood with their tears for those who would never more defy the

pakeha or their hereditary enemies. But the national war-spirit was

alive and redly glowing.

 

Many of the Ngaiterangi and other natives had gone from Hawkes Bay to

Tauranga, indignant at the blockade of the coast. Major Whitmore, as a

counter-stroke, raised a contingent from among the friendly natives,

confident of their willingness to fight anybody and anywhere. His

opinion did not long lack confirmation.

 

The Ngaiterangi speedily changed position, building a strong pah at

Puke-hina-hina, long afterwards memorable as the Gate Pah, so named

from its peculiar situation on a narrow ridge with a swamp at each end.

It was about three miles from the mission station at Tauranga. Here

the insurgents proposed to await the attack. Not unused to the rules

of war, they sent a protocol (March 28) to the colonel in command,

announcing that unarmed persons, or even soldiers who turned the butt

of their muskets or the hilt of their swords to the enemy, would be

spared. This resolve was fated to stand them in good stead.

 

On the 21st of April, General Cameron transferred his headquarters to

Tauranga.

 

"'Quem Jupiter vult perdere dementat prius,'" spouted Massinger, who

saw an opening for a classical quotation as, soon after daybreak on the

29th, the guns and mortars, placed in position overnight, opened fire

in front. "What possible chance do they think they have against a park

of artillery and nearly two thousand men?"

 

"'Let not him that putteth on his armour, etcetera,'" returned Slyde.

"If I were anything but a thick-witted Englishman, I should say, don't

like the look of things. Maoris too d----d quiet. Bad sign. See that

fellow coolly shovelling up earth to fill a hole."

 

Warwick, whose wound was presumably paining him, but who defied

the surgeon to keep him in the hospital, said nothing. Afterwards

brightening up, he began in his usual cool way to discuss the situation.

 

"We've got guns enough _this_ time to pound them to bits, and men

enough to eat them, but they'll make a fight of it, and a stiff one.

That redoubt's an artful piece of work, and the line of rifle-pits

between it and the swamp is well placed. More than the flagstaff

is--for _us_, I mean. I believe it's ever so far in the rear to draw

the fire. That's an old dodge of theirs. However, there must be a

breach in the afternoon."

 

"I should say before that; the firing's very accurate," said Massinger.

"And that Armstrong six-pounder is enfilading their left."

 

"After lunch, if we get any," quoth Slyde.

 

Whatever "stomach for the fight" the men told off for the assault had,

the ration served out to the Forest Rangers, who were notified for

that service, along with a hundred and fifty sailors and marines and

the same number of the 43rd, was discussed with appetite. A reserve of

three hundred men, under Captain Hamilton of H.M.S. _Esk_, formed the

reserve.

 

"The cannon's loud-mouthed summons ceased,

A rocket signal soared on high."

 

The assault was on.

 

Colonel Booth and Commander Hay led the way into the inner trench,

where no enemy was to be seen. But from earth-covered pits and passages

poured forth a volley, under which officers and men fell rapidly.

Still the crowd of assailants pressed on, only to be shot down as they

entered the fatal death-trap. The reserve joined, with headlong rush,

in support of their comrades--all vainly, as it seemed. The officers of

both services continued to drop, but the ranks closed up--

 

"Each stepping where his comrade stood,

The instant that he fell."

 

Captain Hamilton fell in his place when leading the reserve. Colonel

Booth and Commander Hay had fallen before. Captains Hamilton, Glover,

Mure, Utterton, and two lieutenants, _all of the 43rd_, were shot dead

or mortally wounded, as also Captain Glover's brother, whom he tried to

carry off. The front ranks of the storming party were annihilated.

 

In a very few minutes every officer of the column was either dead or

wounded. Among the latter were Slyde and Warwick. They had gone down

along with the officers of the 43rd. When they awoke to consciousness

it was dark, and their comrade Massinger was nowhere to be seen or

heard.

 

Stunned and panic-stricken, deprived of their officers, the men had

broken and fled--in such headlong haste that they took no advantage of

the ground. On the open surface of the ridge, many were shot. No one

could account for the disaster. Some said that the word "Retreat" was

heard and acted upon; others, that the main body of the natives had

rushed to the rear, and being met by the 68th Regiment posted there,

recoiled, and dashing back to sell their lives dearly, were mistaken by

the soldiers for a Maori reinforcement. Then the Maori warriors turned

to the work of slaughter. Rawiri leaped on to the parapet as he fired,